


A Place for It to Happen

by nightlibrary



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightlibrary/pseuds/nightlibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Liam navigate their relationship with a mix of eagerness and caution, same as any other couple that's had the past they have. Really, there isn't any need for the lady at the supermarket to ask so many questions, or for Louis' mother to stare at Louis so hard across the table. Louis loves Liam and Liam loves Louis and if Liam can't stop feeling nervous, that's not really anyone's fault, is it? AU set in Nowhere In Particular, America, because I don't trust myself with much else, if we're being honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cmdf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdf/gifts).



> For Any, because apparently everything I write is spawned from some request of hers, and for Mel and Bridget and Melissa and Caitlin, for being encouraging and lovely and some fairly talented writers. And, also for Mel and Bridget: a preemptive apology, and a huge thank for you reading the whole of this (if you do) despite being familiar with a far more detailed summary. You're gorgeous and I adore you.

_\--_

_I'll give you my heart to make a place_   
_for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger._   
_Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars_   
_for you? That I would take you there? The splash_   
_of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We've read_   
_the back of the book, we know what's going to happen._

 

\--

 

ONE

 

Maybe, Liam thinks, it’s the “mood” lighting glinting off of Louis’ perfectly done date hair. Maybe it’s the way Liam’s scarf smells like Louis’ cologne because he wore it last. Maybe it’s just Friday. Maybe it’s nothing, and she needs to stop looking for a reason and start looking for a way to calm down, because fucking Louis in this restaurant isn’t actually an option. Especially--Liam smiles to herself--while they’re still waiting for a table, and with Louis apparently so hungry he needed to eat half of her pack of Altoids on the way over.

She chances a glance sideways and sees he’s leaned back, head against the wall behind the bench they’re waiting on, eyes closed. He’s mouthing along with Hunter Hayes as “Wanted” streams out of the overhead speakers, lips shifting softly around the words, “wanna wrap you up” and Liam feels it in her fingertips.

And no matter how Liam laughs at the dim amber light, Louis does look gorgeous in it--skin soft and warm as caramel and looking twice as smooth, minus the tiny patch of stubble he must have missed shaving this morning. He pauses in the middle of singing to yawn, and Liam stifles a smile.

“I hope you’re not tired already,” she says, “as you’ve still got to sit through an entire dinner with me, and God knows how boring those are.”

Louis cracks his eyes open to peer over at her, smile lurking around the corners of his eyes.

“Is it Make Fun of Liam hour already? Those just seem to keep coming quicker and quicker.”

Liam snorts. “Right,” she says, “and it’s got nothing to do with you thinking of more and more rude things to say. Just the timing.”

“Darling,” Louis says, eyes popping open in exaggerated amazement, “You can’t possibly think I’d ever say a rude thing about you? You’re a saint. An angel, even. Utter perfection.”

“Wait.” Liam shifts so she’s sitting sideways on the bench, one knee pushing into Louis’ hip. “So, you’re saying you have a ‘Make Fun of Liam’ hour, but you’d never say a rude thing about me? Tell me, how--,”

“Liam,” Louis interrupts, voice dripping condescension, “it’s not rude if it’s true."

Liam reaches out and shoves him, hard, with both hands, and he shouts, “Hey!” louder than he means to, and then bursts out laughing as Liam yanks him back into her before he can fall off of the bench. A mother with a family of four--a husband and three boys, one older and two maybe six years old--eyes them up and down, frowning. Liam goes pink up to her ears and is just opening her mouth to apologize when their pager goes off, buzzing and blinking red in Louis’ hand. He whoops in glee and leaps to his feet, then bends down and lifts Liam straight up by the waist.

“Louis!” Liam gasps. _Jesus_ , she thinks. _He’s been lifting_. He just grins at her and waggles his eyebrows.

Still grinning, he turns to the mother and says, “Sorry for all this. It’s just she’s unbelievable on Fridays, and I’ve got to channel all of the pent up annoyance somewhere.”

“ _Louis!"_ **  
**

Liam tries to turn back to apologize, but Louis keeps tugging her forward into the restaurant, and it’s with an almost gleeful twitch of his wrist that he tosses their pager into the basket atop the--Liam freezes, frowning; _what do you call that?_ \-- _hosting podium? Counter?_ _Who cares_ , she thinks, frustrated, and then suddenly the hostess is popping back up from behind the _whatever_ , looking ruffled and slightly embarrassed.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Alright, ma’am?” he says, and Liam catches a giggle in her throat, swallowing painfully. The hostess, a pretty girl with slightly frizzed-out auburn hair and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, smiles nervously.

“Dropped my pen,” she says, and Liam instantly smiles at her, unable to avoid feeling sympathy. She seems new, and it’s an incredibly busy night; the most crowded Liam’s ever seen Applebee’s.

Liam ducks her eyes then, remembering. She tries not to audibly snort, lest the hostess think it’s at her expense, but the memory of Louis wrapping around her from behind Wednesday night and whispering, “Gonna take you out somewhere _real_ nice” into her ear is almost impossible not to scoff at, now. _Applebee’s_. Real nice.

“Um, right,” the hostess is saying, tucking her pen behind her ear, “This way, please.”

They follow the girl to a booth near the back and slide in on either side, Louis waggling his eyebrows and Liam rolling her eyes. It seems to relax the hostess; at least, she smiles at them without wavering as she says, “Your server will be right with you!” before turning and walking away.

Liam sighs loudly as soon as she’s out of earshot. “You’re honestly unbelievable. And stop doing that--you haven’t even said anything suggestive. You just look like you’ve got a twitch, or something.”

“Lice of the eyebrow,” Louis says solemnly, nodding. Liam settles her face into her hands.

Peeking through her fingers, she stage-whispers, “This is a restaurant.”

Louis twists in his seat to look around, covering every direction before turning back to Liam. “Seems to be,” he says, just as serious as before, and Liam covers her eyes with her palms.

“You’re talking about lice. In a restaurant,” Liam continues, “You made a rude comment to a _mom_ in a restaurant. You--,”

“Are alive,” Louis finishes, “in a restaurant. You are reciting a very obvious list in a restaurant. You’ve just realized you’re on a date with a _lunatic_ in a re--,”  
  
He’s absolutely bouncing in his seat by the time Liam thinks to kick him, hard, in the shin. She doesn’t even uncover her eyes to watch his reaction, and only opens them as he starts to speak again:

“Do you remember what I said earlier,” he begins conversationally, adjusting the pepper shaker on the table with one hand and staring right at Liam, eyes somehow managing to radiate both sincerity and mischief, “about the comments I make being true?”

“Being rude,” Liam corrects, echoing Louis’ earlier nod. Louis’ mouth twitches just barely before he manages to school his features.

“You don’t know that what I’m about to say is rude,” he chides. Liam drops her head to the table, internally wincing a little. It’s awful manners, really, but who can blame her--

“Hi! My name’s Jenna and I--oh, are you alright?”

Liam snaps her head up so fast she feels it in her neck. Jenna’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm.

“Sorry, yeah.” Liam brushes her hair back behind her ears and wills the heat rising into her face to disappear. “Um, I’ll just have a water, if that’s alright.”

Jenna smiles at her. It’s a weird parallel, Liam thinks, to the hostess earlier. Like karma. Reassurance karma.

God, she gets stupid when she’s embarrassed.

“I’ll have a water too, thanks, and can we get some artichoke dip?” Louis says, and Liam feels his ankle nudge hers under the table. She bites her lip at the warmth.

Jenna makes a small note onto her pad and tosses them another smile. “Coming right up!”

Louis watches her walk away and Liam takes the opportunity to study his face. There’s the tiny patch of hair he’s missed, yeah, but then there’s the cut of his jaw under it and the way his cheekbones catch the light. His hair looks soft and his skin looks warm, and she can’t help tracing the line of his shoulders in his shirt, the way the done-up buttons hide his collarbones. A small sigh escapes her. Despite his ridiculous behavior, absolutely none of her earlier desire to strip him naked and push him back against a booth has disappeared.

_Damn it._

“Liam?”

“Hm?” Liam shakes herself out of her daze to find Louis’ eyes on her face, his expression quizzical. She half-frowns. “What?”

“You’re not listening at all, are you? I could’ve told you something unbelievable, and you’d have no idea.” He does his best to sound disappointed. Liam refrains from rolling her eyes; there has to be some sort of quota for the night. She shouldn’t be filling it within the first ten minutes.

“How did I end up attracted to someone so annoying?” she muses, and lets her eyes run the length of his arms, from shoulders to fingertips, lingering a bit on his biceps and the way his wrists taper off into his hands.

Louis’ answering grin is absolutely wolfish. It flashes bright white in the corner of Liam’s vision as she glances down at the menu; she knows what she’s getting, really, but she hates it when Louis gets smug.

Or, well, she hates that Louis’ smugness turns her on. But she’s not going to _tell_ him that. Jesus.

Instead, she slides one foot forward until it’s just between his two feet, her sandals leaving space for her to feel leather against her skin. He’s wearing terribly fancy shoes for a Friday. Fleetingly, she wonders if Harry’s let him borrow a pair--then remembers that of course Harry’s feet are much bigger than Louis’. Zayn, maybe. She bites her lip and slides her foot up, onto the booth between Louis’ knees. There’s tension in his calves.

Liam smiles.

“What, pray tell,” Louis mutters into the folds of the menu he’s picked up, “are you doing?”

“Looking for something to eat, obviously,” she says into her own menu, biting back a smile. Then: _Oh_. The double entendre hits her and she fails to stifle a giggle. Louis drops his menu.

“Are you-- _Liam_.”

“Hm?” It’s deliberately innocent, this time, rather than distracted. She taps her fingernails on the laminated pages of her menu and stills her foot.

“Did you just--?” he tries, and Liam ignores him, choosing instead to appear very absorbed in the description of the pasta dish she’s ordered nearly every time she’s come here.

Okay, every time. She’s gotten the same thing every time. She’s a creature of habit.

Louis is muttering something to himself about broccoli and whether there’ll be enough. It’s funny; when Liam had first met him, she had him pegged as someone who’d hate vegetables. The secret is that Louis loves vegetables. It’s Liam, actually, that isn’t a fan. She eats them out of a sense of duty. Louis finds this hilarious.

Liam finds her lips twitching again against her will. She can practically hear Louis smirking across the table.

“I can’t believe you’re sitting there laughing at your own jokes--,” he starts, and the waitress--Jenna--chooses that moment to reappear beside their table, drinks and dip in hand.

“Water for you,” she says, setting glasses in front of Liam and Louis, “and water for you, and hang on, this is hot!” She grins at them and slides the chips and artichoke dip into the center of the table. “Do you know what you’d like to order, or do you need a little more time?”

Liam flashes Louis a smile, indicating he should go ahead. She turns to her water glass and takes a sip, feigning nonchalance as she carefully slides the foot between Louis’ knees down and then out of its sandal. Louis is ordering some kind of chicken; Liam’s not really paying attention as she slips her foot back up, grazing the inside of Louis’ thighs before pressing down, gently, on the crotch of his jeans.

She bites down around the giggle that threatens to escape when Louis’ nostrils flare slightly and his eyes blow wide, all signs that he’s trying his hardest to appear normal, despite the fact that Jenna has been waiting for confirmation of his order and is wearing a rather sly half smile.

“Yes. And, um, can I have an extra bit of broccoli? Thank you,” he manages. His answering smile is very controlled.

He wraps a hand around Liam’s ankle and digs his fingernails in just as she’s trying to finish her own order, and the burn of it makes her hiccup around the word “penne.” The grin he’s wearing once Jenna is gone and Liam’s able to look at him is so satisfied that she can barely stop her eyes rolling.

“You’re such a child, honestly,” she says, but then digs her heel into his thigh and curls her toes, putting her whole body into the motion, bottom lip catching between her teeth.

Louis’ sucks a breath in through his nose and leans forward just a bit, unable to help himself, and suddenly Liam could die from the way there’s a table between them, and the way her stomach is near rumbling from hunger, the way she wishes they weren’t here, they way she almost doesn’t care.

“God,” she whispers, and she can nearly taste the want in the way her voice has gone breathy. She knows she’s being ridiculous, winding Louis up in this damn restaurant, bouncing between ridiculously silly and ridiculously overwhelmed, but God if she doesn’t love the way he’s looking at her. If she doesn’t adore the way his warmth melts into her like the cheese in their artichoke dip, isn’t fond of the way he makes her turn cliche. She leans forward, conspiratorial, voice low and warm. “I’m tempted to fuck you right here on the table.”

Louis curls the hand not on her ankle tightly around the roll of his silverware, looking for all the world like he’s going to use it as some kind of weapon. A rush of too-quiet words leaves his mouth on a breath.

“Sorry?” Liam asks, all faux-innocence and lust. She starts laughing when Louis shoves her foot off of his thigh, scowling and starting to unroll his napkin.

His voice is loud enough this time that the clatter of his silverware isn’t enough to drown out his muttered, “You’re insufferable.”

“Irresistible,” Liam corrects, “you’re always mixing the two up, Louis. I’m irresistable. And sexy, and marvelous, and--,”

“Insufferable,” Louis repeats, louder, “ridiculous, impossible to take out in public--,”

“There’s a little boy behind you who looks positively alarmed,” Liam whispers, cutting him off and trying to fight down a surge of giggles. “Might be ready to defend my honor with that fistful of crayons. Look out.”

Louis turns his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the boy, small and dark haired and holding one red and one green crayon in his small scraped hand. He immediately whips back around to look at his own table once Louis meets his eye, and Liam lets herself laugh just a bit as Louis turns back to her, sighing dramatically.

“Wonderful,” he groans. “He’ll be telling his mother all about the crazy man at the other table and the pretty lady he’s yelling at. I’ll get a whole restaurant full of dirty looks and the concern of waitstaff. ‘Ma’am, are you quite alright?’ It’ll be brilliant. And by brilliant I mean just another black mark you’ve gotten onto my record with your antics.”

Liam lets out a low whistle, in response to which Louis scowls--he can’t whistle well, has complained that Liam shows it off--and scowls further when she continues, “Did you work that out just now or is that a screenplay you’ve been writing? Really beautifully dramatic.”

“God,” Louis says, letting his face fall into his hands, massaging his eyelids with his fingers as he speaks, “what have I done? You’re a monster. I swear you were such a sweet girl when I met you. This is _restaurant_.”

She grins at him and reaches out to peel his fingers back with both hands, choosing to ignore the mockery. “You _ruined_ me,” she says, and she knows how it sounds when she emphasizes the word. She bites her lip, coy, and before either of them can prepare she lifts his left hand to her mouth and bites down on the heel of it, the tip of Louis’ thumb brushing her cheek.

He jumps so hard that his knees bump the underside of the table and nearly send his glass toppling; a mess of water sloshes out over the table.

“Jesus, Liam,” he hisses, but he pulls his hand back slowly, savoring the drag of her teeth over his skin.

“Sorry,” she whispers, and it’s more genuine than joking. She leans back against her side of the booth, suddenly shy.

Louis eyes go soft watching her face. Under the table his calves slide shut to trap the foot she still has hovering between his knees.

“Hey,” he says, and she’s biting her lip, uncertain. Louis smiles softly. “It’s good, yeah? Liam. There is not ever going to be a universe in which I’m bothered by you wanting to fuck me.”

Liam can feel the muscles in her face wanting to smile against her will. She relaxes her mouth, still watching Louis, and lifts both hands to the table so she can fiddle with her still-rolled napkin.

He keeps talking, still watching her closely. “Even in a restaurant. Even anywhere. I am content to be half-hard while eating orange chicken if it means that you want me.”

Now she’s smiling, unable to help herself, as her napkin falls open. She laughs.

“It’s just--I dunno, I’m not normally... When I said, earlier, that this was a restaurant. I was serious! It’s just that you always...,” she pauses to shake her head and set her silverware to the side, “You have this way of making me. Do really ridiculous things. Say things I wouldn’t, ordinarily. It’s not that I don’t think them or--or that I was entirely boring before you. Just, y’know.” She shrugs and tosses her hands up. It’s a lot to say over an appetizer at Applebee’s. _God, maybe there’s something in the air._

Louis’ mouth quirks up on one side. “Have you been spending time with our Harold?”

“Shut up,” Liam says, refusing to acknowledge the slight blush she can feel rising on her cheeks. She’s completely lost it. Lust-filled and delivering emotional monologues in an Applebee’s. An _Applebee’s_. She’s forgotten to make fun of Louis for that. She’ll have to save it.

“We’ve not even touched this dip yet,” she says, reaching for a chip. “It’s going to go cold.”

“An excellent deviation from the topic at hand by Miss Liam Payne, there, folks,” Louis says under his breath, and Liam very calmly kicks him under the table. She’s still only wearing one sandal, so it can’t be too rough.

The dip is still warm, and Liam bites down hard on a laugh after Louis spills an overfull chip’s worth into his lap. He doesn’t speak beyond lifting one hand and saying a pained, “Don’t.”

Later, when Jenna comes back with their food, she gives them wink when she tells them to enjoy. Liam’s pasta is simple and delicious and Louis has exactly enough broccoli to force Liam to eat some, and she steals a bit of his chicken in return.

It’s a good date; a great date, really, and one of many. Which is why, despite the way Louis keeps trying to bite her ear and snatch her hands from the steering wheel, all Liam can think on the drive back is how maybe she wouldn’t mind a future in which all of her Fridays belonged to Louis.

She turns her head slightly when he tugs at her hair, half-smiling in the glow of streetlights through the windshield. “Hey, Lou?” she says, and he stills, looking at her.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He gives her hair a second, gentler tug, knuckles brushing her cheek. His smile is incredibly soft. “I love you, too.”

 

\--

 

No gentle confession of affection in the world has ever yet distracted Liam Payne from wanting--more than pasta with chicken and tomatoes, more than a perfect sunny Saturday, more than most things--Louis Tomlinson’s hands on her body, his thigh between her legs, pushing her back against the front door to her apartment.

So it follows that they’re here now, out of the car and up the stairs, slightly out of breath and definitely not far enough out of their clothes.

“Liam, Jesus,” Louis says, gasping. His hands are on her hips, fingers digging in hard. She rolls her hips forward against the grip, groaning a little.

“C’mon, Lou, don’t, seriously--,”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, you know that, right?” His teeth graze her neck and she digs her fingernails into his shoulders, slightly desperate. “Jesus Christ.”

“You are the one,” Liam breathes, “holding me back, and I’ve been wanting you all night, and you are telling _me_ \--,”

“Shut up, shut up,” Louis says, and yanks her forward, her hips grinding down against his thigh and rocking into his, her hands sliding up into the hair at the base of his skull.

“Fuck me,” Liam starts, right into his mouth as he pulls back from her throat to kiss her, “Please, fuck me, let’s go, let’s _go_ , why are we still here, Louis--,”

Louis groans and kisses her silent, his fingers slipping behind her back to climb the knobs of her spine, grip still bruisingly tight. Their bodies are pressed so closely together it’s a miracle there’s room for air, but Liam keeps talking when Louis pulls back.

“Bedroom, Lou, right now.”

He’s nodding even as he pinches her skin. She nips at his jaw in retaliation, but it’s weak, distracted, because they’re moving through the apartment and _God, yes. Finally._

Louis opens the door and flicks the light on rather effortlessly, and somewhere in the back of her mind Liam’s positive she’s impressed that they have made it this far without tripping and killing themselves, but really there isn’t much space for anything that isn’t want, because Louis starts taking his shirt off as soon as they’re over the threshold. It’s nice, the way they’re beyond trying to be charming, beyond self-conscious pauses. Their movements now are unabashed. Liam’s occasional shyness is nonexistent.

“Shit, shit,” she hisses, and Louis looks over from beside the bed where he’s kicked off his jeans to see her standing by the door, stuck on the zipper of her dress, unable to pull it the rest of the way down. He crosses the space between them and reaches for her. She’s too preoccupied to bat his hand away.

“You’ll break it,” she protests, but her mind is one static-filled blank. Does it matter if he breaks it? Does she care? _God_ , it would be stuck. It always gets stuck when she needs it not to. She’s biting her lip in frustration as Louis’ hands sneak under her hemline and over the backs of her thighs, her ass, to grip at the bare skin of her hips.

“Lou--,” she starts, but before she can finish he’s pushing her back against the wall and stepping between her legs.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, and his voice is rougher than usual; he says he almost hates it because he sounds whiny, but she likes it--the way he could be sobbing, or gasping her name. Zayn calls it “melancholic,” and says he sounds that way when he sings, too. Niall slaps his back and says “hoarse” and Harry laughs as Louis wrinkles his nose.

Liam’s string of thought is abruptly cut off as Louis hooks the tips of his fingers over the waistband of Liam’s underwear and starts to tug them down.

“Oh,” she gasps out, and he slides to his knees, taking her underwear down with him, looking up through wilting fringe to indicate that she should lift her feet. She does, one at a time, and then she’s left standing there staring down at Louis on his knees. She bites her lip and bends down to tangle a hand in his hair.

“Gonna stay down there for a bit?” she asks, slightly breathless but entirely suggestive. His eyes darken as he curls his hands around her ankles.

“Maybe,” he replies. He presses a kiss to the inside of her knee, then straightens his back as she stands up and presses one to her thigh. His hands follow his mouth, hot palms lifting goosebumps on her legs as they rise up to push at her thighs, spreading them just a bit wider.

“Oh,” Liam gasps again, softer this time, and her hands clutch at the rucked-up hem of her dress as Louis presses a kiss to her cunt. “God.”

“Prefer Lou,” he murmurs, and she’d roll her eyes but she’s too busy closing them against the feeling of his tongue.

“Shut up, Loui--oh! Oh--,”

He keeps going, tongue and lips and even the gentle graze of teeth, until he’s pulling back to ask, “Do you want to come like this?”

“N-no, God, your neck must hurt, I--,” Liam manages, though her voice is shaking a little, just like her knees. He takes hold of her hips to steady her.

“Want me to fuck you?”

Liam rolls her head against the wall and her grip on her dress turns knuckle-whiteningly tight. “Yes.” It’s a ragged whisper. She can feel Louis’ smile against the skin of a thigh.

He rises up smoothly, hands still on her hips, thumbs on the edges of bone and fingertips on the flesh of her ass, the press enough to have Liam’s breath hitching. God, she’s going to last two seconds, but if there’s a thing Louis has learned it’s that she loves the stimulation just at the edge of too much. She catches her fingernails in the skin of his shoulders. His wrists catch her dress and hold it up.

“Okay,” he whispers, a gentle warning right against her ear, and then he’s lifting her up, pushing in, and she hooks her ankles around his back and clings, whole body shuddering like a ship at the first impact of a wave.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, and he turns his head to kiss at her hair. She’s got her face buried in his shoulder and she’s panting hard against his skin. “M-move, Louis, please.”

He presses her hard against the wall, digs his fingers in deep, and thrusts once. Liam gives a startled shout. He does it again, and the angle is ridiculous, and Liam’s dizzy with the nearness of him, and so, so close.

“Be--,” she gets out, and cuts herself off with a little cry, tensing her thighs, vision hazing even behind her eyelids. Somewhere beyond the separate world of her orgasm, she can feel Louis walking. He understood her, then. _Perfect_ , she thinks, mind still spinning, and presses a kiss to the skin she can reach. Her back hits the sheets just as she’s able to pry open her eyes.

“You didn’t make your bed,” Louis says, and leave it to him to be cheeky even now, with her flushed and fucked underneath him. _Unbelievable._

“Took me a bit,” she says, “to figure out what to wear.”

“Liam Payne, actually thinking about an outfit,” he says, and though he’s smirking and quirking an eyebrow, his hair is a wreck and there’s a sheen of sweat lying heavy over his skin, and he’s still hard, arms shuddering just a little. She smirks back at him and releases his shoulders to drag one knuckle over his dick. He sucks in a breath, sharp, and brings his mouth down to hers.

She fists a hand around him, grip sliding slowly, and he groans. “Gonna finish the job, hm?” she murmurs, teasing, and feels his teeth against her ear.

“Yeah,” he says, in that hoarse voice of his, and she smiles.

“Well, go on, then,” and she releases him, reaches up to brace her hands on his shoulders as he leans back. He takes himself in hand, lines up, and pushes back in. Liam’s eyes roll back a bit. It’s good, so good, every time, and it’s not that Liam hasn’t had a lot of sex in her life--she has, really, a lot more than Harry or Niall guessed when they first met her--but there’s something about the taste of Louis and the feel of him, something about the way he sounds when he comes. It’s better than anyone else.

“Gorgeous,” he’s murmuring, and Liam wraps her legs around him, drawing him closer, and lifts a hand to grip the back of his neck, sliding one down to rub at her clit.

“Race you,” she whispers, and if there’s a sound Liam likes better than Louis’ coming, it’s him laughing, breathless, his mouth hovering above hers, bodies right in line.

 _Or, well_ , the thought crossing her mind just as her stomach starts to tighten around a rush of heat and Louis’ mouth opens in a moan, _I_ _like it_ _almost better_.

 

\--


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG? I got really caught up in watching The Walking Dead and trying to get a job and other gross Person Things, and hit a huge block--those of you who write consecutively and/or can turn out 10-20k like it's nothing, I'm in absolute awe. Hopefully I won't take nearly as long with the next chapter. Anyway: here's to Mel, for reading this for me and assuring me it isn't terrible, and to #marrieds. You know who you are xx

\--

 

TWO

 

Liam wakes up to the shower running. When she rolls over to check the clock on her iHome, the mercifully dimmed display screen reads 4:12 AM.

“Ugh,” she grumbles, and promptly rolls over again, this time into Louis’ abandoned space. His pillow smells like hair product and cologne and skin. She rubs her nose against it fondly before yawning and burrowing down into the sheets, warm and still eye-burningly tired. She falls back asleep.

At 4:46 AM, a warm mouth on the back of her neck wakes her again. She smiles into her sheets.

“Mm, ‘lo,” she murmurs, and Louis kisses the spot just behind her ear.

“Hi, love. D’you know your dress is still sitting next to the bathroom door? I nearly tripped over it this morning. You’re an animal.”

Liam snorts. “Idiot. Pretty sure you had to help me take it off.”

He sighs, fondly, as though recalling a memory from his childhood. “Had to pull it right over your head. Damn zipper’s still stuck. You were tired.” Suddenly, he’s flopping down beside her, staring through the fuzz of hair covering her face to meet her eyes. “D’you know, you were in such a rush last night we didn’t even use a condom? Very irresponsible of us.”

“Shit,” Liam yawns. “Like fifteen year olds.”

“I was very neat as a fifteen year old. Definitely didn’t want any babies riding the bus with me, I’ll tell you,” Louis sniffs. Liam rolls her eyes.

“Right, you were just so incredibly clever.”

“Like now, only younger and not fully grown into my dashing good looks--,”

Liam presses a hand to his mouth, cutting off the rest of his sentence. He kisses her palm and grins, lifting his eyebrows. She takes her hand back to shove her hair out of her eyes.

“Don’t you have a job you ought to be doing? What time is it?”

“Four forty-something. I’ve got a bit. Come out, have coffee with me.” Louis tucks Liam’s hair more securely behind one ear. His eyes are crinkling at the sides.

“You know I don’t like drinking coffee before I run,” Liam murmurs, but he’s still grinning at her and edging closer, nose nearly bumping hers.

“No, but you like me,” he counters. “Enough to fuck me with your dress on.”

Liam coughs out one incredulous laugh. “And you like me enough to take me to Applebee’s. I forgot to mention that last night--I mean, wow. Who needs a dessert room or whatever else when you can be ‘eatin’ good in the neighborhood--’”

Louis rolls his entire body over onto Liam’s, effectively cutting her off and forcing the air out of her lungs in one huge gasp of morning breath. She kicks her legs in protest. They wind up tangling with his and he laughs.

“Coffee! Promise. I’ll get right off,” he says, sticking a pinkie in front of her face. She glares at him.

“Fine,” she wheezes.

He kisses her nose and starts, “Not so hard, wa--,” but then Liam bucks her entire body, jerking her hips up and shoving Louis’ shoulders hard enough to send him falling over the side of the bed with a resounding _thud_.

He moans pitifully as she swings her legs out onto the floor and steps daintily over him, stark naked and wholly dignified. She rounds the end of the bed with calculated grace, sleep-wild hair still managing to swing behind her as she heads for the door.

“Darling,” she calls over her shoulder, voice airy, “aren’t you coming?”

Louis comes, heaving himself up onto his feet and chasing her out the door with a smack to her bare ass that has her shrieking in a decidedly less dignified manner, and yanking at the back of his shirt while he laughs and shouts, “Hey, I’m dressed for work!”

He is, and neatly too--but it’s never once stopped them being ridiculous, and it’s not about to now. Liam sticks her tongue out at him once he turns to face her. He beams.

“You’re beautiful in the morning.”

Liam wrinkles her nose, but smiles as she replies, “And you’re cliche.” Louis doesn’t contradict her, and she wonders if it’s because they’re same. Maybe he sits around staring at her with what feels like snippets of a romantic comedy script scrolling through his head, rather than coherent thoughts. God knows she’d understand how he felt.

They’re just watching each other when she remembers. “I need a bath robe.” Especially if she’s going to keep thinking about movie script endings; she’d rather limit the amount of blushing skin exposed.

Ignoring Louis’ long-suffering sigh, Liam swings back into the bedroom to grab her bathrobe off of the back of the bathroom door. Her dress really is just lying there in a heap; she’ll have to wrestle with it later. For now, she gives it an affectionate nudge with her toe and pulls at the bathroom door. The knob is slightly damp in her hand. She smiles, imagining Louis stepping out of the shower, dripping wet. The mirror is still clouded with steam at its upper edges. His hair must be soft today--she barely registered the look of it. If it’s free of gel, she’ll be able to touch it without messing it up. A bubble of hope has Liam’s smile growing as she turns back, robe in hand--ready to leave, just before the cup at the edge of the sink catches her eye.

In it, there’s her purple toothbrush. Nothing else. No spare green brush with blue and white bristles.

In her head, a small voice says she’s being ridiculous. There’s no need to stand there, suddenly tense and staring. It doesn’t mean anything that there’s only one toothbrush, not really. Louis’ spare doesn’t need to be there. It doesn’t matter that it had been there, up until--

Liam sighs and rubs a knuckle into one eye. Louis had kept a spare toothbrush at Liam’s up until Monday, when they’d had that argument about moving in together. _Right._

Louis voice echoes out of the kitchen. “Liam?”

Liam shakes herself. Her gaze flicks to the open plastic container holding her birth control just in front of the toothbrush cup--she remembered to take it last night, just like always--and she calls back, “Coming!”

She’ll call Zayn later. It’ll be fine. It _is_ fine. _Get a grip, Liam._

“I’m going to burn your toast. I’m almost positive I’ve forgotten how to get it to pop back up.”

Liam sighs, knots her robe, and very pointedly avoids meeting her own anxious eyes in the bathroom mirror. “You haven’t,” she says, “or I’ll eat my own hand.”

“Might have to anyway,” Louis sing-songs, “if I’ve ruined your toast.”

Liam follows the scent of coffee out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where Louis is standing beside a plate of very unburnt toast and grinning like a lunatic. Liam grabs a fake lemon out of the fruit bowl on the dining room table and hurls it at him.

Breakfast as usual.

 

\--

 

Liam wakes up for the second time that morning from a dream about Louis’ hair. It had been soft earlier--she’d kept touching it, running her fingers through it, forward and back, making it feather and fluff up over his forehead. The dream was the same. Just her laughing and him complaining, but smiling. Letting her do what she wanted.

She groans into her pillow, softly, trying not to think about it too hard--and failing. Louis is always so giving, with her. So willing to let her do what she wants and always ask for more. And as much as Liam loves it, it’s terrifying; every _yes_ , every _please_ , every nod, every _don’t stop_. She’s never had anyone love her like Louis does.

Before she sits up and forces her face out of what she swears is Louis’ lingering scent, Liam digs her fingernails into the pillow, like getting a physical grip on something might help her shut her mind off. She does not think about how Louis laughs at her when she does things like that. “ _You’re so physical, Liam. So practical. Your brain must be like Tetris.”_

Out of bed, into the bathroom. Hair tie, brush, dental floss, face wash. Clean and with her hair pulled back, Liam stares at herself in the mirror.

“You’re totally losing it,” she says, clear and louder than she means. Her mirror-self flinches. Liam smooths out her eyebrows. “You’ve been like this for two weeks. Just talk to him.”

Her reflection blinks back at her. Liam slams the bathroom door on her way out.

Her running shoes and her backpack are sitting in the armchair closest to the bedroom; she doesn’t remember putting them there, though it’s entirely possible she did. But it’s more possible Louis thought it’d be clever to mess with her by rearranging all of her things, and there are toast crumbs still on the counter when Liam passes through the kitchen to grab her water bottle.

She squeezes her eyes shut, pausing at the front door. Crumbs, misplaced shoes, the smell of coffee as early as 6 AM. This is what Louis mornings feel like. This is what it feels like to have Louis linger.

Liam is so incredibly screwed.

She drops to the floor in the living room to stretch her legs. She runs through her entire routine, eyes on the clock, and tries to clear her head of anything but the idea of her run. Liam loves running. It takes her out of her own head, or at the very least helps her focus, neither two of which Louis has been able to do for her recently. No matter how good he continues to be in bed or how brilliant a job he does at convincing her to do things she doesn’t want to do.

Her back cracks twice, loud as gunfire in the silence of her apartment. Liam nearly flinches. _If only it were that easy,_ she thinks. If only there were a trigger she could pull, a switch she could flip to turn off this ridiculous anxiety.

Instead, she snatches her phone and keys out of the bag dumped by the front door, swings the door open, and shuts it behind her. Then she starts to run.

 

\--

 

“Zayn, I told you, he’s just--it’s fine, it’s just that he’s--,”

Liam’s sweaty and has one hand wrapped tight around the elastic chest strap of her backpack, unhooked now that she isn’t running. In her other hand is her cell phone, and on the other end of the line is Zayn, who is sighing exasperatedly into Liam’s ear.

“Li, it’s not fine. You shouldn’t feel so lost on this, and the fact that you’ve yet to have a clear conversation about you two fucking _living together_ \--,”

“That’s a dollar,” Liam says, trying not to smile even though Zayn can’t see her. Niall’s put him up to keeping a swear jar--some bet they made about Zayn swearing more than Niall and measuring it out as proof, Liam doesn’t remember. Niall and Zayn have had so many stupid arguments and silly bets over the years that they’ve blurred together. Every single one of them has resulted in laughter, yelling, and a lot of kissing. Soap-opera level cuteness, really. Niall and Zayn are disgusting.

“Fuck the jar!” Zayn shouts, and Liam’s mouth twitches. “You and Louis. You need to ask him, Liam. Shit--do you want me to ask him? Should I--,” and Zayn peters off. Liam can see him in her mind’s eye, biting his lip and staring into the middle distance. Zayn would never be so bold as to ask Louis flat out, especially without Liam’s permission, but there’s a protective streak in him wider than any Liam’s ever seen. Zayn can’t let anything rest if he knows it’s upsetting her, and he’s clever enough to find a way to help, every time.

Liam twists the strap in her hand. “Zayn, you don’t have to do anything. Really. I just wanted to know if... What I should do, I guess? He’s so--I don’t know what’s up in there, sometimes.”

“Louis doesn’t think like you,” Zayn says, matter-of-fact. “You’re alike in that you’re both idiots, and that’s about it.”

“Charming.” Liam says dryly, and Zayn chuckles back at her. There’s a beat of silence before Liam has to ask: “What if he just--what if he doesn’t want to? What if I’m right, and there’s something weird that explains him dodging the subject, and his mom giving me those looks?”

“Liam,” Zayn says sternly, “Seriously.”

“I’m being serious.” Liam takes a turn and watches a bird flutter its way out of her path, tiny brown wings ruffling the pollen of an oak. She can see Abby’s Grocery just ahead.

“His mom doesn’t give you weird looks, okay? And if she did, they wouldn’t be from--God, you being inadequate, or whatever shit. That’s not it. You’re not that, Liam.”

“Thanks, Z,” Liam says, voice softening around the nickname. A clattering echoes down the line.

“No problem, babe. But hey, I gotta go, alright? I’m-- _shit_ \--I knocked over my damn pencils--look, I love you, and I’ll talk to you later, yeah? Don’t be an idiot, and if that weird cashier is working the register at Abby’s, just beat her to death with one of those big jars of whey protein. Bye!”

Liam hears him hang up before she can stop laughing.

The great thing about Zayn, Liam thinks, is that you’d expect him to be quiet and serious and to use a few more words you didn’t understand. He came off that way, a bit, when she first met him. He was a bizarre combination of soothing and unsettling: he was calm, collected, smiled enough at her and said just enough to have her thinking she was probably welcome in his space, yet said too little to make her certain. Whereas friendship with Harry or Louis was like striking the match--instant heat and light--achieving that same closeness with Zayn was like the candle wax melting. It took time.

Still, Liam has always been patient, and once she’d been around long enough, the private Zayn started to leak out: filthy mouth, inappropriate jokes, an extremely eclectic taste in books that Liam found especially baffling. She wasn’t much of a reader as it was, but a lot of the things Zayn read were either books she’d never heard of or those she had heard of but wouldn’t pick up. Niall thought it was brilliant, of course, but Niall thinks almost everything about Zayn is brilliant. Except for his occasional social smoke breaks. Niall would never admit it, but he prefers Zayn cigarette free.

“He looks so hot,” he’d said to Liam, wistfully, “but they play all those commercials, and you get that eyebrow thing. See, there it is.”

Liam had smoothed her fingers over her forehead. Zayn had quit for her, really, after ages of nagging--that, and Liam suspects he knew that Niall worried a little, no matter how much he tries to give Zayn free reign. Niall isn’t about limiting anyone’s choices. It makes them a bit perfect for each other--not that, _ugh_ , Liam needs to be thinking about the Wonder Couple.

She smiles, pushing open the door to Abby’s. Wonder Couple is what Louis calls them behind their back. Or, well. To their faces, too, but it’s Louis.

The weird cashier is working. Her name is-- _Brittany? Beth? Something with a ‘B’_ \--and she waves enthusiastically as Liam walks in. Liam gives her a tiny half-wave back and tunnels into the aisles, pulling up her list on her phone.

She pauses in front of the different butters, debating almond butter versus organic peanut butter and chewing on her lip. Her phone is hot in her hand. Before she can change her mind, she presses a number on her speed dial and brings the phone to her ear.

Harry answers on the second ring.

“Hey, Li, what’s up?”

 _God, oh my God._ Liam clutches a jar of peanut butter in her free hand like somehow it will keep her grounded. The label claims that it’s extra crunchy. She can hear Louis in her head: “ _People who eat smooth peanut butter have had everything handed to them in life, Liam.”_ A bubble of hysterical laughter rises and pops in her throat; her words come out sounding strangled.

“Hi. Hi, Harry. Mm, I... Do you think Louis--do think he’s serious about me?”

It’s rushed out on one breath. Liam feels slightly lightheaded. There’s nothing on the other end of the line but silence.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, I,” Harry says, and he sounds dazed, “I’m here. Liam, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Liam.” Harry is speaking with deliberate slowness. “Louis called me yesterday to talk about your couch. For fifteen minutes.”

“I--,” Liam doesn’t know what to say, really, and Harry cuts her off before she can say anything.

“You never call me.” It’s not an accusation. Harry’s voice is gentle. “Lou loves you. If it seems like he isn’t serious, it’s because he never seems serious about anything that makes him happy. You make him really happy, Liam.”

Liam sets her jar down. She can feel her eyes tearing. “Thanks, Harry.” It’s true--Liam never calls him. It’s not that she doesn’t love Harry, really, because she does. It’s just that there’s a strangeness to him, to him and Louis. They look at each other like they know more than they could ever really say. Liam isn’t a jealous person, but there’s something about the way Louis loves Harry that makes her heart ache. It puts her on edge.

Liam loves Louis' friends, and she loves that they care about him, and he them. It’s only that she wants to care for him best. There’s something about Louis that makes you want the whole of him for yourself, even as you want him to have everything.

All of Liam’s breath leaves her body on a sigh.

“I don’t know what it is, Liam,” Harry says, quietly, “but whatever it is, you should tell him. He loves you, and if you ask me, it’s the most serious I’ve ever seen him.” She hears a smile in his pause. “And I’ve seen him serious.”

“Thank you,” Liam whispers.

“You’re welcome. Talk to you later, yeah?”

Liam starts nodding before she remembers Harry can’t see her. “Yeah,” she replies, “yeah, Harry. Bye.”

“Bye, Liam.”

Liam stands there for a minute, staring into space, before she feels a soft touch at her elbow.

“You alright?”

She glances down to see a little boy, maybe eight years old, standing beside her and holding a stick of rock candy nearly as long as his forearm. Liam smiles at him, a little weakly--she’s been standing in the same aisle this whole time, probably looking desolate. _Good lord._ “I’m fine.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you were--,  
  
“Liam!”

Both Liam and the little boy turn to the scolding. A woman with a massive red bag and equally red but far more beat-up plimsolls rushes right up and takes hold of the little boy’s arm.

“What did I tell you? You apologize for bothering this nice lady, Liam--,” she’s saying, and Liam smiles at the boy.

“Your name’s Liam?”

He nods, flicks his gaze back to his mom, back to Liam, back to mom. He keeps nodding, and Liam’s smile grows wider.

“My name’s Liam, too. Thanks for checking up on me, okay? But you should listen to your mom.” Liam spares a nod for the boy’s mother, who is looking a mixture of flustered and grateful.

“Come on, honey, we’ve got to go,” she says, and the boy just keeps nodding, as if between his approaching Liam and his mom finding him, he became a bobblehead. Liam gives him a little wave as he’s walked away.

Then, she collapses back against the shelving. Not even noon and she’s managed to make a spectacle of herself.

“Perfect,” she mutters, and snatches a jar of smooth organic peanut butter to toss into her backpack. _Louis can deal with it,_ she thinks, and then moves on.

 

\--

  
Liam approaches the register with milk, peanut butter, bread, curry chicken salad, mints, brambleberry tea, and vitamins all tucked neatly into her backpack. The weird cashier--Jessica, as it turns out, not a Beth at all--takes her time scanning, chewing gum and staring hard at Liam the whole time.

“Where’s the husband?”

“He’s not my husband.” Liam’s smile is strained. She doesn’t mind talking, really. It’s just that all of Jessica’s questions are oddly personal.

“But you two live together, right?” Jessica’s gum smells overwhelmingly of watermelon. Liam strains to stay in place, rather than physically back away before she can even pay.

“Yes,” Liam lies, firm and hopefully only marginally as frustrated as she feels. “We do.” She slips the last of her groceries back into her bag and hands her cash over to Jessica, with exact change. Jessica frowns, and Liam taps the little electronic display in front of her.

“Handy, these things,” she says. “Like you don’t even have to say a word. Well, bye!”

“Have a nice day,” Jessica calls out, and Liam can hear the slight confusion. A tiny sense of victory has her skipping through the door.

If only every interaction were tailored as well to passive aggression.

Liam watches the sidewalk as she walks. She has to talk to Louis. She can’t keep putting it off, asking everyone questions--least of all Harry, with his weird intuition and his uncanny ability to make Liam feel inadequate. Which is saying something, considering Liam’s best friend is Zayn Malik, who makes everyone else in the room look bad simply by existing.

Liam wraps her arms around herself, clinging to the affection she feels at the thought. It was Zayn, with his quiet charm, who’d introduced her to Louis four years ago. They’d been at a party and Liam was sitting on a chair in some corner, head tilted back against the wall and staring up into the warm glow of a string of multicolored lights.

“Hey, babe,” she heard, somewhere by her hip, and when she glanced down there was Zayn, sitting on the carpet and smiling. It’s so like Zayn to just plop down onto some stranger’s floor--Liam prefers chairs, worries about stains, whatever else. Zayn plays six rounds of flip cup and feels perfectly comfortable doing whatever. He’s an affectionate drunk--it takes everyone by surprise, except for those who know him well. Liam had smiled back at him.

“Hi, Zayn.”

“Doing alright?” he said, curling a hand around her ankle. She nodded.

“Yeah, m’good. Just taking a break. Lots of shots. Your boyfriend’s a lunatic,” she said, voice warm and teasing. Zayn gave her leg a shake.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” He hadn’t been, then, but he would be in exactly one week. Niall and Zayn waited ages to commit, but once they did, they were committed completely. It was ten times more revoltingly wonderful than Liam thought anything would be. It still is. “C’mere, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

So Liam stood up and let Zayn guide her by the hand, pushing through one tangled knot of sweaty, half-drunk fresh-out-of-college types, everyone in glitter and gold. It was New Years Eve, and they were at the apartment of some friend of Zayn’s. There was a charcoal drawing the height of an entire wall hanging in the living room that was a portrait of someone’s face. It was incredible, even if the facial expression was slightly ridiculous. Liam couldn’t help wanting to touch it.

“This,” he said, and Liam realized they’d come to a stop, “is Louis Tomlinson. Louis, meet Liam Payne.”

Liam rubbed a fist into one eye--probably smearing the little mascara she'd worn tonight dramatically--and focused her vision just in time to witness one of the most charmingly mischievous smiles she has--still, to this day--ever seen, framed by a truly elegant pair of cheekbones. Her mouth parted slightly in surprise.

“Hello, Liam Payne,” Cheekbones said, and Liam shut her mouth to smile back, small.

“Hi,” she said, and shyly stuck out a hand. “Um, Lo--?”

“Louis,” he repeated, and his hand was warm in hers. His fingers were as elegant as his cheekbones, his fingernails neat slices of white against the slight gold of his skin. He wasn’t quite tan--it was December, after all--but there was a glow to him that spoke to sunshine. Liam pulled her hand back, shaking her head just slightly. _You just met him, Liam._ _Jesus._

Zayn was still standing beside them, smiling quietly. He brushed a hand over Liam’s hip.

“I’m gonna go find Niall, yeah? You guys should talk.” He turned to Louis. “You’ll love her. She’s really into that dude on the pie show, too--Lee Pace? Leaves me voicemails about it.” He turned back to wink at Liam, and before she could protest, disappeared.

“I just think he’s--,” Liam started, in her own defense, and Louis laughed.

“Brilliant? Gorgeous? Definitely both,” he said, seriously, and Liam’s smile widened, and that was it.

They’d talked for ages, all the way up until the countdown started and Niall and Zayn came crashing into them and dragged them up onto the dining room table, Niall mysteriously barefoot. Zayn’s shouts were deep, but softer than Niall’s beside him, who was yelling at the top of his lungs.

The ball hit bottom and Niall kissed Zayn hard enough to draw up whistles. Zayn looked stunned, after, and so wildly smitten that Liam had laughed--or would have, if Louis hadn’t leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Happy New Year,” he said, and Liam watched him, his blue eyes crinkling. She bit her lip on a smile.

“Happy New Year.”

Liam doesn’t remember what he wore, or what she did, or what else they really talked about, but she remembers that kiss. She remembers his eyes. It’s a silly notion, she guesses, to believe in fate, or in love at first sight, but there had been something about him, even then. She thinks she saw it. She thinks he did, too.

“You have to remember that,” she mutters to herself. “You have to remember.”

Her phone starts to ring as soon as she gets into the apartment. She picks it up and flips it to speaker so she can unpack and talk at once.

“Hey, mom,” she says, and wonders if she sounds tired. Three phone calls in one day is unlike her.

“Hi, sweetheart. Is Louis there?”

Liam freezes over the jug of milk, one hand wrapped around the handle and the other spread flat over the counter. She can feel the grit of toast crumbs against her palm. _It’s just a question, Liam. You’re being a lunatic. You_ are.

She lets go of the milk. She turns around, grabs her phone, and slides down onto the kitchen tile, phone tucked up tight against her ear.

“No, mom. He’s not here.”

Her mom doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, well. I was just wondering if he knew any more about Christmas at all.”

“Mom, it’s June.” Liam massages her eyebrows with the fingers of one hand. She can almost hear her mom waving a hand around.

“Yes, well. Some people plan ahead, is all. Best to, if you ask me. Darling, are you alright? You sound tired.”

Liam pauses, staring at her warped reflection in the oven door. She takes one deep breath, then another.

“I’m fine, mom. Just--you know how I get. One thing snowballs. It’s nothing. I’ll ask Louis about it tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Liam will ask Louis about moving in, tomorrow. Her fingertips feel a bit numb. Should she be excited? Isn’t this exciting?

Why is she terrified?

“Liam, honey,” her mother says, soothingly, “I’m sure that whatever it is, it’s absolutely fine, and there’s no need to breathe like you’re drowning. I’d ask you to look at me, but you can’t, so here: Get in front of a mirror. Take a look at yourself, mhm? Right in the eyes. Look right in your own eyes, and say, ‘Louis Tomlinson loves me, and would never do anything to deliberately upset me, for fear of being violently murdered by my mother.’”

“Mom!” Liam can’t help the shocked laugh that escapes her. No matter how many jokes her mother makes, Liam’s taken by surprise, every time.

“Alright, yes, you’re right, it’s your father he really needs to worry about. You know I hate blood.”

Liam beams. “Yet you cleaned all of my wounds as a sporty youth.”

“Ugh, yes. You bled everywhere. Awful. Now, Liam, I’ve got to ask you--...,” her mother keeps chattering into her ear, all about the dogs at the kennel Liam works in, about the cake she attempted to bake last week for Liam’s father that involved pineapple and turned out awfully, about Zayn and Niall’s anniversary. Halfway through, Liam gets a text from Zayn that’s nothing but a smiley face, and she sends back a wink. She stays on the floor, and it isn’t until after they’re an hour into talking that Liam remembers the milk on the counter and she finally jumps up and into action, tells her mom she’s really got to go, that she ought to take a shower, that she loves her.

It isn’t until after she’s put everything away and jumped into the shower and is standing under the warm spray, using Louis’ bodywash, that she realizes two things. First, Louis might not have a toothbrush here, but he does have two different kinds of shampoo. Second, she feels lighter than she has all morning, and the second she gets the chance, she’s going to kiss Zayn Malik for telling her mom to call.

As she’s drying off, she sends a message to Louis. _Youurrr body wash smells beeetter than miiiine._

He responds almost immediately. _don’t tease me, Payne, i’m up to my elbows in flour. the new kid’s killing me. do you smell delicious?_

_At least twiiiice as delicious as u xx_

_i believe it. my breath smells awful? i need a new toothbrush :(_

Liam flops backward onto the bed, half-wrapped in a towel, and smiles up at the ceiling until her eyes water right down into her hair.

“Liam Payne,” she whispers. “You absolute idiot.”

 

\--


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to Any and to Abby's, which really does sell some bomb curry chicken salad and is decidedly not a supermarket. Didn't have a beta for this one, so excuse me if anything seems weird. Toddlers are really exhausting; it's possible I've forgotten how to read altogether. Also, a massive happy birthday to my wonderful pal and usual beta, Mel. You're a peach and I love you xx

\--

 

THREE

 

Louis has just stepped outside and taken a seat at the back table when his phone rings. He picks it up without reading the caller ID.

“Hello,” he says, “you’ve reached Louis ‘The Tommo’ Tomlinson, currently--,”

“I’ll hang up and make you start over,” Zayn says dryly, and Louis laughs.

“Hey, Malik. Too anxious to wait a few hours? Need a little more of me now?”

“I burn, I pine, I perish,” Zayn deadpans. “No. It’s Liam.”

It’s like Louis' stomach falls right through his feet. _Shit._ He’d need to sit down if he weren’t already. He sets the sandwich he’s carrying onto the table and rests his elbow beside it, head in his free hand. “Yeah? What about her?”

Zayn sighs. “Look, you two are gross, right? Easily as gross as Niall and I.”

Louis laughs, but shortly. Niall and Zayn are thirty times as terrible as he and Liam; he’s never licked icing off of the end of Liam’s nose, private birthday party or not, and if he had, he’d be less blase about it. He’d be proud, or something, or at least use it against her. _Jesus._ _Wonder Couple._ That, and--well. While Zayn might have this one positive thing to say about he and Liam, no sigh plus “It’s Liam” combo ever bodes well. Louis knows that Zayn likes him, and that--obviously--he likes him and Liam, together. Zayn is his friend as much as Liam’s by now. But he’d been Liam’s first, and that means Liam’s happiness means as much to Zayn as it does to Louis. Which is terrifying, if Louis’ being honest.

“No,” is all he says. He can hear Zayn rolling his eyes.

“Fuck you, _yes_. Okay, and look: Where’d you wake up this morning?”

“That’s a dollar,” Louis says, scratching the back of one ear and smiling. Zayn’s going to owe Niall half of his bank account at the rate he’s going. It’s amazing he agreed to this bet, anyway--less amazing when you remember how absolutely willing Zayn is to do anything to amuse Niall, but still.

“You and Liam, I swear,” Zayn mutters, then prompts him again, “Morning, Louis. Answer the question.”

“Liam’s.” He tucks his phone between his shoulder and his cheek so he can peel the paper from his sandwich. “Why?”

“‘Why’ as in ‘why don’t you live there?’ Excellent question,” Zayn says, and Louis freezes with both hands on his sandwich, eyebrows climbing his forehead.

“We’ve never really, um,” Louis says, suddenly at a loss. “Never talked about it? She’d say something, right? It’s Liam.”

“It’s Liam,” Zayn echoes, and it’s in that knowing way he has that says he’s waiting for Louis to understand something without having to explain. Louis lifts his sandwich to his mouth, takes a bite, and chews.

Mentally, he kicks himself. “Shit,” he mutters, mouth still full of ham. “Fuck.”

“That’s a dollar,” Zayn mocks, and Louis swallows in time to scoff.

“Fuck off. But Liam--she mentioned it, Monday. I thought she was kidding.”

He can practically feel Zayn staring at him like he’s an idiot. _Damn it._ He wonders if Liam’s said anything to Zayn, if that’s the real reason Zayn’s calling. He won’t bother asking; Zayn won’t tell him, anyway, never does. Not if Liam doesn’t want him to, and why would Liam ever want him to? Liam’s self-sufficient, suffers in silence, tries to solve everything herself and worries her way into a coma over anything as serious as someone else’s feelings for her. Especially Louis. Louis’ feelings. Louis might spend a lot of his time amazed that anyone like Liam would look twice at him, but he’s not stupid or disrespectful enough to deny that Liam loves him. _Crap._

“Of course she wasn’t kidding--she--oh, shit, Zayn,” he says, dropping his sandwich so he can bring his hands to his face. He swallows, hard.

“What’d you say to her?”

“I said--God, I said that of course my flat was smaller, but at least she didn’t have to worry about cleaning up my stuff. I--I said, ‘Thank God we don’t live together.’”

Zayn makes a sound in the back of his throat; Louis digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Lou. You actually said that?”

“She makes me nervous!” He takes his phone back in hand to cradle his head in the other, elbow on the table. “I don’t want to--she’s not Harry! What if I freak her out?”

“ _Louis._ ” Louis can’t decide if Zayn sounds more incredulous, exasperated, or annoyed. He winces. “You’ve been with her for three and a half years. You snapchat her mom.”

“Karen added me,” Louis says. She did. Her first snapchat was of Liam’s dad with egg stuck in his beard. Liam’s mom is hilarious.

Zayn groans. “Lou, that isn’t the point! Liam probably thinks you hate the idea of moving in with her! She probably thinks that three years isn’t that long, and maybe you’re not serious!”

“Not--,” Louis is spluttering, stunned, “n--? Serious? How can she... I snapchat her mom!”

“I could strangle you,” Zayn mutters, and Louis shifts until he’s sitting up, one hand picking at the edge of the table.

“What do I say? Zayn, I’ve got to tell her. I... Liam, I love her,” he says, simply, because it’s so easy by now--he loves her, he loves Liam Payne, “and of course I think it’d be great to live with her. I’d let her whine at me about dirty socks forever if it meant I’d be waking up to her for the rest of my life, y’know?” Louis knows he does. He’s seen the way Zayn looks at Niall, even in those moments Niall’s fallen asleep during a movie with his mouth wide open. Complete, unadulterated adoration. Every time.

“I dunno,” Zayn says, then sighs. “Have you really thought about it? If you brushed it off that casually the first time, Lou--,”

“I’ve thought about it.” Louis glares at the sandwich he’s no longer sure he’ll be able to finish. “Zayn, you know I have.”

He can hear the crackle of Zayn shifting, doing something on the other end of the line, breathing. When he speaks again, he sounds resigned. “Yeah, I know you have.”

“Zayn? What if I just--what if I just ask her? Ask her to move in with me. That’d do it, yeah?”

“Lou, I don’t know--,”

Louis jumps nearly a foot when the door crashes open behind him. He jerks around, knee slamming into the support beneath the table, making him swear and almost drop his phone.

“Oh! Oh, Mr. Tomlinson, sir, I’m sorry--,” it’s Michael, the new kid Louis has on ovens today. He’d been alright during the first stage of his training, but now that he has Lane working the front, Michael can’t seem to keep everything straight. Louis grits his teeth.

“No, it’s alright, Michael. What is it?”

Michael reaches up like he’s going to run his hands through his hair, then remembers the net on his head and thinks better of it, dropping his hand to twist the hem of his apron.

“It’s just--the rhye, sir, I can’t quite tell if it’s doing alright, and I don’t want to try opening the oven because the heat, and--I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted--,”

Louis waves his free hand at him, trying to get him to shut up without seeming overly rude. He forces a smile. Shit, his knee hurts. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be right in, okay? Go ahead.” He doesn’t correct Michael’s use of “Mr. Tomlinson,” though he’s insisted before that Michael call him “Louis.” He's still not thirty, but he could use the extra bit of respect today.

Michael nods violently and disappears back through the door, all jerky electric movements. It’s amazing, in moments like these, knowing that Michael is really shaping up to be an excellent employee. He seems nervous, unsteady, like a terrible candidate for baking, but Louis knows better. He does, honestly. He tilts his head back and groans in frustration.

“Got to go?” Zayn asks, sympathetic. Louis groans again. “Go ahead. And Louis?”

“What?”

“Don’t do anything too rash, okay?” Zayn’s using his serious, calm voice. Louis scoffs.

“Thought you said I wasn’t going to freak her out,” he says, and he bets that if Zayn were here Louis would be seeing him shrug.

“Doesn’t mean you should dive in headfirst. She’s still Liam.”

Louis climbs off of the bench seat, grimacing at the receding ache in his knee and the unfinished sandwich on the table. “Yeah, alright,” he says, and if it sounds bitter it’s because Louis knows Zayn is right. _Again. Like always._ “I’ll talk to you later, man.”

“Bye, Lou,” Zayn says, and Louis hangs up, sighing.

At least Michael’s problem is easily solved.

 

\--

 

Louis gets off earlier on Saturdays. It’s one of the benefits of going in before the sun rises, and of having worked his way into helping manage the bakery where he’s worked since his days in university. The owners are practically family by now, Mark and Patricia now old enough that it’s a relief to have Louis take some of the work off of their hands. He loves his job, really, even if it’s not everything he imagined himself doing when he was younger.

Nothing about his life is much like he’d imagined it would be. It’s not a bad thing--especially now, he thinks, as he’s walking up the steps to Liam’s apartment. He knocks softly on the door.

Then, in a spur of the moment decision, he throws himself against the wall, out of sight of the doorway, and watches as it swings open.

“Hello?” Liam sounds confused, but not suspicious. Louis creeps forward, edging toward the opening. “Is anyone th--,”

“Boo!” Louis yells, and throws himself around the door, tackling Liam over the entryway and onto the carpet beyond it. He feels her breath whoosh out beside his ear. He kisses her forehead before rolling off to lie beside her, grinning. She just lies there, looking shell-shocked.

“Honey, I’m home,” he says.

Liam rolls her head to look at him. “You absolute bastard,” she wheezes, and for a moment he watches her chest rise and fall, rise and fall as she gets her breath back. He can feel his own expression softening, watching the twitching of her mouth. She’s trying so hard to keep her scowl in place.

“Are you alright?” Louis says, and then lets out a shout as Liam flips over and scrambles over to him on all fours, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “No, no--,”

“I’m going to murder you,” she says, crawling onto his back as he tries to roll away, effectively trapping his hips between her knees. It’s like he forgets how strong Liam is. _Shit._ “If you ever do that again.”

“I did that last week,” Louis replies, and Liam hits him, hard, on the back of the head. “Ow!”

She starts to smack at his back, over and over, both hands hammering into him. “And you scared the crap out of me then, too, you idiot--,”

“Ow, ow, Liam--Liam, I’m sorry, cut it out--!” He’s wheezing, Liam driving the air out of his lungs with her hands. She stops hitting him just as his back is start to sting a little. He almost sighs in relief, but then Liam’s pinching the skin at the back of his neck and bending down to speak into his ear.

“Someone,” she says, “needs to learn to behave.”

Louis, just about to start squirming his way out from under her, freezes. _Holy crap._ “Liam,” he says, weakly, and then she starts giggling into his ear. He groans. “Liam!”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, and climbs off him to her feet. She starts to walk away, still talking. “As if I’m going to reward you after that--,”

Louis darts a hand out and latches on to her ankle, digging his nails in just a little. Liam yelps and he grins, savagely, before letting go and clamouring to his feet. When he finally finishes straightening himself out, he looks up to find Liam glaring at him. “What?”

She rolls her eyes, turns, and starts walking to the kitchen. Louis skips forward to wrap an arm around her waist, bringing her to a stop and dragging her back into him, a noise of protest rising in her throat just before he presses his lips to the side of her neck.

He kisses again, a third time, a fourth. He grazes the skin with his teeth, kisses her earlobe. Whispers, “Hi, Liam,” into her ear and feels her shiver just slightly against him, her body melting back into his.

“Hi, Louis,” she whispers back, and he can’t help tightening his grip on her. It’s moments like this, with her lined up against him, little athletic body warming his, wild shampoo-scented fall of hair tickling his cheek, that he wants to fold her into him, lock some part of her inside of himself and keep her there. It makes him wild, the way he thinks her sweetness would fill him up like the perfume from flowers fills a room. The way she makes him think in metaphors and jump out from behind doors just to hear her shriek his name. He loves her even angry, shocked, and he loves reminding himself--loves knowing that he can love her anywhere, any way.

But he loves her best like this, soft against him, breathing slow and tilting her head a little, giving him better access. He kisses her throat and she hums.

“Have a good day?” he asks. Liam hums again.

“I had curry chicken salad for lunch,” she murmurs. “There’s some left, if you’re still hungry.”

“Wonderful,” he says. “Didn’t get lunch. I’m starving.” He kisses her shoulder, then sucks the skin into his mouth. Liam makes a soft noise.

“Don’t--,” she starts, but he bites down and she stops, the word breaking off into a shocked little, “oh!” He lets go only once he’s sure he’s left a mark that’ll take at least a day or two to fade.

“You don’t wear tank tops at work,” he says, and she reaches back with one hand to pinch the skin of his thigh through his pants. “Ow.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” she replies. Then, “My mom called. She asked about Christmas.” Neither of them have moved, still standing halfway to the kitchen, pressed against each other. The blinds are open in the living room. Late afternoon sunlight is spilling across the carpet, warming Louis’ back and casting their joint shadow out in front of them. He presses a kiss to the corner of Liam’s jaw.

“Thought we were doing Christmas at yours,” he says, conversationally, and starts to turn her in his arms. She goes easily, hands sliding up to hook behind his neck. She tilts up to kiss him gently on the mouth.

“We are,” she says. “I think my mom’s just concerned you haven’t asked your parents yet. Must be worried about all of your sisters making it over, or something.”

“My sisters will be fine. You’ve got a dog, and your dad’s growing that beard. It’ll be at least thirty times more amusing than Thanksgiving at mine.”

Liam laughs. “The earring in the gravy boat was hilarious.”

“It wasn’t,” Louis says darkly. “I swear to God, I couldn’t eat my potatoes after.”

She rises up onto the balls of her feet to kiss his nose. “I bought milk, if you want coffee.”

“Did you get tea?”

“Yes.”

Louis slips a hand into her hair and tugs, gently, until her mouth is tilting into his and he’s kissing her more deeply, her lips opening beneath his. Her breath tastes like mint and berry, a slightly odd mixture of toothpaste and tea, her teeth smooth against the tip of his tongue. She’s humming in the back of her throat, something satisfied, and he can feel her wiggling closer, body shifting slightly against his, hips angling just right--

“Liam,” he murmurs, pulling back, and she doesn’t answer, hands moving to tangle in his hair, her mouth pulling off entirely to brush over his throat. “Liam,” he says, louder, as she kisses his neck and uses her grip on him to tilt his head back.

“What,” she says. It’s barely a question.

Louis smiles. “I really am hungry, y’know.”

“But it’s Saturday. You’re home early,” Liam says, almost whines, and Louis quirks an eyebrow.

“Are you pouting?” he asks.

Liam leans back and jerks his head down. They stare at eachother, him smirking, her frowning.

“No.”

“If you let me eat now,” he says, casual, “I’ll call the boys, and then in the time it takes Harry to decide on the appropriate video-game-playing jeans and Zayn to find the corkscrew that Niall’s probably hidden again, I bet I’ll be able to fuck you on the couch.”

“They sit on the couch,” Liam says, but her frown is turning up at the edges.

Louis’ smirk turns wicked. “Exactly.”

“You’re terrible,” Liam says, but she releases him. “And I have a corkscrew.”

“You know Zayn insists on using his. He hates that yours is electric, which is pretty rich coming from someone who has a pencil sharpener that looks like something Emeril would use to carve a turkey in three seconds.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said,” Liam says, leading the way around the corner into the kitchen. “It’d be impossible to carve a turkey with a pencil sharpener.”

“Does it hurt, ever, to be that literal? I ask because I worry.” He darts around Liam to the fridge, swinging it open to discover that Liam did, indeed, go shopping. “Did that cashier ask you your blood type yet?”

Liam groans. “No, but you’d think they wouldn’t have anyone that odd as a supermarket cashier. She makes me nervous.”

Louis jerks his head out of the fridge to stare at her. “Did you just say ‘supermarket?’ I didn’t think you were allowed to say that unless you were a card-carrying member of the AARP. Plus, isn’t Abby's, like, a closet compared to any actual grocery store?”

Liam scowls at him. “Aren’t you eating?”

“Testy.” Louis leans back into the fridge to pull out the rest of the chicken salad. “Are we ordering dinner?”

“I thought Harry wanted to cook?”

Louis turns around to take the fork Liam’s gotten for him. “Perfect. If he’s going to cook, it’ll take him _ages_ to get here.”

Liam swats at his arm, but she’s giggling again. “ _Louis._ ”

“What? I’ll probably still be hungry after this chicken salad, after all,” he says, and he leers at her. She hits him again as he pops open the microwave.

“Oh, my _God_ , you’re disgusting! I’m leaving, I left my book on the balcony and it’s far less rude out there--,”

“You love me,” Louis says, puckering his mouth at her, “you think I’m wildly sexy and can’t wait until I’m done.”

“I can’t hear you,” Liam calls over her shoulder, already turning around and walking away. “I’m sorry, you’re too far away, you’ll have to explain later.”

“Oh, I will!” he shouts, then listens to her laugh echo back through the living room. He stands still to watch her go even as the microwave beeps at him to open it.

 

\--

 

It’s an hour later and Louis is on his knees at the side of the couch, Liam tipped back over the arm. He talked with Niall about fifteen minutes ago and is already a little hazy on how long Niall claimed it’d take him and Zayn to get here. Liam has that effect on him.

He presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, just over the third lovebite of the day--the second is, of course, on the other thigh--and she lets out a shaky breath.

“Louis,” she gets out. “Are you--,”

“Shh.” He tugs her forward a little, hands hooked behind her knees. He nuzzles into the crease of her thigh and feels Liam’s breath hitch.

“Oh” she whispers, “please,” and he smiles as he turns his head, opening his mouth to breathe hot over her pussy.

“What was that?” he asks, and he knows he’s being terrible but _fuck_ if it isn’t worth hearing her frustrated little groans, feeling the way her thighs tense as she shifts. It can’t be the most comfortable position, but Liam won’t move now, not for anything. He can hear her fingernails against the fabric of the couch.

“Louis,” she says, and her voice is too breathless to be a whine but it’s just desperate enough to be a plea. He presses his tongue to her clit and leaves it there. She lets out another noise.

“Mm,” he hums, muffled, and she cries out when he flattens his tongue over the whole of her, sliding down between the folds and holding there. He doesn’t move. He grips her thighs and listens to the brush of her hair against the couch cushions, the rustling of her upper body as it writhes a little.

“Fuck me,” she gets out, and keeps going, the words barreling over each other, “oh, oh my God, I h-hate you, just fuck me, you’re terrib-ble, oh-- _oh_ \--,”

She breaks off, words turning to gasps as Louis works his mouth over her in earnest. He likes every kind of Liam in bed: fierce, dominant, silly, sleepy. He likes her laughing and sweating and twisting around, likes her riding him, fingers in his mouth. But there’s something special about this Liam. This Liam hot and desperate under him, tasting like the tangerines they’ve been eating all week, sweet and uniquely herself.

She keeps trying to push closer, bucking her hips up even as he hooks her legs over his shoulders and she crosses her ankles. Her heels dig in between his shoulder blades and she pulls, and he opens his eyes and glances up, seeing nothing but the smooth swell of her skin, the stretch of her stomach up to her breasts, face invisible as she throws her head back, groaning, “Louis--,”

When she comes, she cries out, whole body shaking with it as she scrabbles for something to hold onto. Louis fucks her through it with his tongue, not stopping until her legs uncross and she starts pulling away, hissing, “Stop, stop.” When he does, she collapses onto the couch, pulling her legs with her until she’s lying flat across the length of the cushions.

Louis stands up and stretches his legs, then walks his way around to where Liam’s lying, careful to step over the pile of clothing beside the coffee table. He looks down into her face.

He waits until she opens her eyes to speak. “Say it,” he says. She blinks up at him, lazy and sated.

“Mm, say what?”

“I’m wildly sexy,” Louis repeats, slowly, “and you’re amazed you managed to wait for me.”

“Shut up,” Liam murmurs. She rolls until she can wrap a hand around Louis’ wrist. “C’mere.”

“Cuddling? Liam, darling, I think you’ve forgotten we’re expecting company.” Louis says it as he climbs up, pushing Liam into the back of the couch. He tangles their legs and whispers directly into her ear. “Unless you’re more awake than you look.”

“Very awake,” she says, and then yawns. “So, so awake.”

“It’s Saturday,” Louis whispers. “You said, Liam.” He kisses her ear and the space beneath it. “Saturday.”

“It’s like having a toddler,” she sighs. He bites at her jaw.

“If we hurry up, we can have sex in the shower. I’ll wash your hair for you.” Liam loves having her hair washed. Louis loves remembering that sort of thing to use in his favor at crucial moments. Like this one.

“I already washed my hair,” she replies, but she pushes at his shoulders anyway, fighting to stand up. “Wash yours and maybe sex. You smell like bread.”

“I work in a bakery,” Louis returns. “Race you to the bathroom. If I win, you’ve got to bend over.”

Liam kicks out at his hip as he stands, and he catches her foot. She grumbles, “It hurts my knees,” and he smiles beatifically. 

“That’s why it’s a race.”

Something in Liam’s face sets. “Fine,” she says, and Louis has a split second of recognition before she shoves him sideways and leaps off of the couch, racing headlong toward her bedroom door.

“Cheat!” Louis shouts after her. She flips him the finger, and for the second time that day Louis finds himself watching Liam race away from him, unable to stop himself smiling--even as he can’t keep stop thinking: “her” bedroom. _Hers._ Not theirs.

He swears to God that before Liam, sex was enough to clear his mind of pesky things like guilt and worry. His mom argues Liam’s making him a better person, but Louis has a sneaking suspicion that she’s doing nothing but making it more difficult for him to pull pranks without worrying about the emotional impact he’s having on the next person to use the cling wrap-covered toilet.

Liam pokes her head out of the bedroom door. “Are you even coming?”

Louis quirks his mouth, noting the wild tangle of her hair. “Impatient.”

She snorts. “You bring out the best in me,” she says, and then disappears again. Louis starts to follow her, knowing that no amount of sex will erase the tiny part of him that hopes what she's said is true.

 

\--

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD, I can't believe how long it's taken me to finish this. It's honestly been ridiculous, and I'm so sorry; been a bit of a stressful time, got a new job etc etc, watched all of Teen Wolf because the #marrieds are a ridiculous influence... On and on, but the point is, it's done, and I'd like to give special thanks to Any, Mel, Alex, and Lindsay, who have all helped in unique little ways they might not even be aware of--except for Mel, obviously, the world's most violent beta. Mel: I love you, too.

\--

 

FOUR

 

Harry gets there first, groceries in hand, and sets everything down on the counter before calling out a greeting. Liam hears him from where she and Louis are squaring off in the bathroom, her with both palms out in front of her like a shield and Louis brandishing a wound-up towel like weapon, grinning and cocking his wrists like he’s about to lash out at any second. “Stop, it, Louis,” Liam is saying, “I swear to God--,”

“You shouldn’t swear,” Louis says, and then he’s swinging out and Liam is spinning on her heel, laughing as he shoots after her and swearing when she slams her knee into the end of the bed and stumbles through the bedroom doorway. She can see Harry at the kitchen counter, pulling ingredients out of a grocery bag. He smiles when he sees her looking.

“Alright, Liam? Look a little winded--,” he starts, and then Liam yelps as Louis catches up to her, towel cracking across the backs of her legs. She whirls around and grabs at his wrists, and they wrestle their way through the hallway, Louis trying to kick Liam’s legs out from under her and both of them laughing breathlessly.

“Fuck off, oh my God,” Liam is gasping, and Louis clucks his tongue.

“Liam, such a mouth! And in front of a guest--,”

Liam drops to the carpet, a dead weight on Louis’ arms, dragging him forward. She kicks out at his knees and he tips sideways, crashes over and nearly slams his head into the back of the couch. She rolls her way over his body, gets a knee on either side of his hips and grins down at him, triumphant.

Harry sticks his head out of the kitchen entrance and asks, voice serious, “Did you win?”

“Of course I did,” Liam says, going for breezy but sounding breathless, still. She looks at Harry just in time to see him raising an eyebrow, holding a green pepper in one hand and a jar of marinara in the other.

“Do we need an ambulance?”

“A hearse,” Louis wheezes. “She’s killed me.”

“Louis,” Harry says, trying very hard to suppress a smile and failing. His left cheek dimples.

“So dramatic,” Liam mutters, and presses her fingers into the skin of Louis’ wrists, still held tight in her hands. She can feel his pulse pounding against hers and it makes her mouth quirk up.

Louis cuts his eyes at Harry, affecting a spectacular pout. “She’s always doing this to me,” he says, and Liam snorts.

“Liar and a wimp,” she replies. Harry barks out a laugh. Louis turns his pout on Liam.

“Someone,” he says, “has obviously been spending far too much time with Zayn. Vicious, Liam.”

Liam rolls her eyes and climbs to her feet, remembering that Zayn and Niall are going to be here any minute and that she’d rather not already be on the floor when they do--later, maybe, when Harry and Zayn have a fight over the space on the couch and resort to kicking that will force Zayn into the armchair with Niall, and Liam onto the ground between Louis’ feet, like usual. Louis is the only one of them possessed of the mysterious ability to comfortably share a couch with Harry. It’s a talent.

“If there’s anyone I spend too much time with, darling,” Liam says, emphasis on the endearment, “it’s you.”

Louis’ pout has disappeared, replaced with a positively beatific smile. “No such thing.”

Liam wanders into the kitchen to wrap her arms around Harry, her cheek pressed to his chest. He's warm and smells like grapefruit body wash, something Niall insisted Harry would like. He does, of course, and really it's nice. He smells good and he's comfy and broad and feels a bit like her dad or her cousin or someone. Liam feels safe there, breathing him in.

"What's for dinner?" she asks, still cuddled up to him, so that she feels it when he answers. His chin is resting atop her head and it shifts against her slightly damp hair.

“Pizza,” he says, and kisses the top of her head before turning his to look back at Louis. “C’mere, Lou, don’t be such a sad sack.”

“First,” Louis says, wandering fully into the kitchen and draping himself over Harry’s back, “who even uses that expression? No one. Second, she’s using you as a shield.”

Liam scoffs and pulls her head up to meet Louis’ eyes. His chin is hooked over Harry’s left shoulder and he’s grinning down at her, his hands on Harry’s arms. A glance down shows her he’s on his toes, and it makes something warm curl in her stomach, a kind of easy fondness. She tightens her grip on Harry’s waist and he laughs into her hair and it feels like a relief, almost. Harry in person is nothing but her friend, their friend, and he fits so neatly here between them.

The Harry in her head retreats a little and Liam stays still, breathing in, eyes back on Louis’. He’s just smiling at her over Harry’s shoulder and it feels like a solid minute before Harry finally says:

“Y’know, as lovely as this is, pizza won’t make itself.” He kisses Liam’s head again, then ducks out and away from the pair of them, shuffling over to the side. There’s a split second of calm, Louis and Liam just looking at each other, and then Louis dives forward.

Liam shouts as he gets his arms around her waist and lifts her up, her elbows on his shoulders and her fingers fisted in his hair, legs dangling before she gets her knees braced on his waist. Once they’re settled, Louis’ face is level with her chest and she has to tilt her chin down to look at him. He’s grinning like a maniac.

Liam laughs down at him. “Louis, oh my God.”

“Hey!” Harry stumbles over and sweeps an arm behind him, shoving the groceries down the counter until the spot behind Liam is clear and Louis can set her down on the edge, him still standing between her knees. He slides his hands down her back and over her thighs.

“So, okay,” he says calmly, “whipping. I think you’d like it if you stopped dodging it, y’know. Maybe not a towel.”

“Louis.”

“Genuinely, I think you would. Harry, back me up.”

Harry is pulling jars of sauce and tubes of pizza dough out of his grocery bags beside them. He starts nodding his head as soon as Louis says his name. “Yes,” he says, seriously, and then nods at Liam, eyes closing in a slow, solemn blink. “S’long as you consent, obviously.”

“I don’t.” Liam curls a hand behind one of Louis’ ears, gives the lobe a little tug. “You said it’s pizza for dinner, yeah, Harry?”

“Not whipping,” Louis says mournfully. Liam darts in to kiss his nose and he tries to bite her chin in retaliation.

“Yeah, personal ones. Or, well, homemade ones you can put whatever you want on. I’ve got dough to roll out, y’know, and red and white sauce, and spinach and peppers--,”

Liam gives a little yelp, cutting him off. Louis has leaned forward and has his mouth on her neck, teeth digging in, and she’s pushing at his shoulders. “Louis, get off!”

“Liam,” Louis whines, pulling back a bit, “Liam, you beat me earlier, it’s only fair now that I get to return the favor--,”

Liam drags him back by the hair, one hand at the crown of his head. “Louis, honestly, that doesn’t even--,”

“You’re going to put all sorts of vegetables on our pizza,” he accuses, and Liam stares at him. _Oh my God._ She’s in love with a child. She hooks a leg up so that her foot is digging into the base of Louis’ spine.

“And it’s gonna taste so,” she says, voice getting lower as she pulls him into her, “good.” She breathes the last word into his ear. Louis tightens his fingers on her thighs, almost reflexively, and she grins. Then she licks a quick stripe up his cheek.

“Liam!” Louis brings a hand up to swipe at his face, groaning. She knows he’s complaining more for the show; Louis is gross enough to lick her after he’s been eating food. _Disgusting._ “Alright, alright. Vegetables.”

Liam laughs, triumphant. Louis stick his tongue out at her and she turns her head to look at Harry, still standing beside them, a green pepper in one hand and his hair in the other as he pushes it away from his face.

“Harry thinks they’re good on pizza, too. Right, Harry?”

He smiles. “I’ve got peppers and onions and all sorts, Liam, no worries.”

Louis pulls away from Liam to sort through the ingredients Harry’s laid out, wrinkling his nose at the options. “Next time it’s Zayn’s turn, I’m making you eat sauteed mushrooms or whatever shit, Liam,” and Liam scoffs. He won’t, not if he knows what’s good for him, and anyway Zayn hates mushrooms. It’s Niall that thinks they’re delicious.

It’s at that moment that Liam hears the door open, and Zayn’s huff of laughter as he enters the hall. Niall’s right behind him, voice echoing ahead: “Not like it’s never happened before, y’know.” Then, “Liam! Lou!”

“Harry!” Harry shouts back, and Liam flashes a smile at him. He’s batting Louis’ hands away from one of those plastic onion-shaped containers before Louis can get it open and hip-checking him in the same moment, while Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s ribs. Liam bites her mouth closed and turns to watch Niall and Zayn walking in.

“Wine,” Niall says, lifting a tote to shoulder height and lowering it into Liam’s outstretched hand. “Hi, Leemo.” He presses a kiss to her cheek.

Liam kisses the end of his nose. “Hi, Niall. Zayn, wipe that look off your face.”

“I’m not looking like anything,” Zayn says primly, and Louis snorts, not even turning around.

“Niall not let you bring the corkscrew?” he asks.

Zayn makes a noise in his throat and waves a hand at Louis. “It’s--like, honestly, why do you need an electric corkscrew? Are you an alcoholic? Do you hate fun?”

Niall jogs back over to Zayn and tucks a hand up under the back of his shirt. He kisses Zayn’s cheek and then nuzzles his face into Zayn’s neck, sliding his other hand over the strip of stomach he’s exposed.

“Babe,” he whispers, “you know it’s weird to call using a corkscrew ‘fun,’ right?”

“No,” Zayn says, but he’s smiling a tiny, reluctant smile. “Get off of me, I have dinner ingredients to inspect.”

Liam smiles at them, and at Louis and Harry as Zayn steps up to them and Harry starts complaining, “You’re all going to make a mess, get out, get out of my kitchen--,” and Niall walks past the knot of them to the pantry and pulls out a bag of pretzels, and it’s all ridiculous and it’s all them, every time they get together. Louis slaps Harry’s ass with one hand and laces the fingers of the other through Liam’s.

“Wanna start a movie?” he asks, and Liam nods, biting her lip again, that same fond warmth back in her belly. Niall calls out, “Meet you in there,” and Liam laughs.

“Yeah,” she replies. “Let’s go.”

 

\--

 

Niall, Liam, and Louis are only five minutes into the first movie Louis grabbed off of the shelf when Zayn comes ambling in and flops into Niall’s lap in the armchair, head on Niall’s shoulder and legs slung over one arm rest.

“Is this Bring It On?”

“Yep,” Liam says, and tosses him a grin from where she’s sprawled almost identically over Louis’ lap and one arm of the couch. Her head is propped against one of Louis’ thighs and he’s got one hand in her hair, absently, tangled like a dog taking a nap. Liam turns away from Zayn, but her smile lingers. On screen, she hears Kirsten Dunst speaking, but mostly she hears Louis breathing above and beneath her, the muted warm gurgling of his stomach beside her ear, the whoosh of his sweatpants against the couch and somewhere, quiet, more a feeling than a sound, the thrum of his pulse.

Liam loves moments like this, settled back into herself and the rhythm of her-and-Louis. There’s the initial rush, always, of Harry and Zayn and Niall bursting into a room, like the orchestra warming before the program begins. Everyone has to resettle, but then there’s a unique kind of calm to everything, a special contentedness that makes Liam think of holidays when she was much younger. She turns her head to press a kiss to Louis’ stomach, just because. His fingertips bump her scalp and then shift, fingernails scratching softly.

“Hi,” he says, and from the corner of her eye she sees him smiling down at her. She presses her face into his abdomen.

“Hi,” she answers, and stays there, still, arms crossed over herself and eyes shut. He smells like their shower, and she suppresses the sudden urge to kick everyone out and tug him out of his clothing. Again. She presses her fingertips into her arms and sighs a little. It’s heady, her response to Louis, the way she’s always wanting to get lost in him. She guesses it explains how wild she gets about losing him, about him not knowing how this feels. But he must--he has to know. The way he looks when he smiles. He knows.

From just beyond the couch, Liam can hear Harry traversing the space between the kitchen and the dining room table, setting everything up just how he wants it to be, before--and Liam braces herself, knowing how they always are about food--he calls out, “Alright, heathens--,”

Niall hitches Zayn up in his arms, Zayn going with a bit of a squawk and a frantic tightening of his arms around Niall’s neck, and walks the both of them to the table at a truly impressive pace. Liam stifles a laugh in the fabric of Louis t-shirt.

“Shall we?” Louis asks, low and cupping his hand around the back of her neck, and she nods against him.

“Might as well, before Niall finds somewhere to hide all the white sauce.”

 

\--

 

“Okay,” Harry’s saying, eyes on the pizza Niall has on his plate, Niall himself curled at the foot of the armchair, “look, Niall, I’m sorry, but that’s--,”

“Disgusting,” Zayn finishes, wrinkling his nose. He’s sitting sideways in the armchair above Niall’s head and balancing his own plate on the flat of his stomach. “Really and truly.”

Niall just shrugs around the bite he’s taking, eyes on the movie they’d started over after Harry had asked. “Least the sauce is red.” As he says it, some of it slips off and drips onto his plate. Louis nudges Liam with his ankle and Liam wraps her fingers around it in acknowledgement as Zayn sighs heavily.

“You’re--,”

“Charming, wonderful, the best possible boyfriend anyone could have,” Louis finishes, and Niall lifts his beer bottle by the neck and tips it toward Louis before taking a sip. Liam and Zayn roll their eyes almost simultaneously.

“Brotherhood,” Harry says solemnly, and Liam outright laughs, tilting her head to look up at him.

“If that’s brotherhood, what was it earlier when you were so willing to side with me against Lou?”

Harry takes a sip of his wine before answering, “Also brotherhood. Or sisterhood. I don’t much care, really. Camaraderie?”

“Ganging up on me,” Louis says pitifully, and snatches a pepperoni off of Liam’s plate. She knocks her temple into his knee, too comfortable and ambivalent to bother with any other retaliation. She tips forward to grab at the wine glass set on the coffee table.

“Why’d’you hate alfredo anyway, Niall? Seems like a weird thing to hate.” Liam lifts her eyebrows over her wine and watches Niall and Zayn for a response. Zayn’s eyes track Niall’s movements beneath him and Liam smiles quietly, understanding. They look almost like a puppet and puppeteer--or something more mutual. Buoy and trap, or boats tied together. Zayn and Niall always make her think of the ocean--something she thinks about telling them every once in awhile, but she’s never quite drunk enough. It feels like a confession, admitting to how much they mean to her: not just as separate friends, but as an entity. Zayn and Niall are like proof. She rubs her fingers over the knob of Louis’ ankle and listens as Niall answers.

“I don’t,” he says, and shrugs again, half a smirk playing around his mouth. “I just like to say I do, because Zayn loves it.”

“You’re a dick,” Zayn says, but there’s no heat to it, and Liam watches as Niall tilts his head back and they pass a smile between them, Zayn’s hand coming down to brush through Niall’s hair briefly. Liam takes another sip of wine and offers the glass up to Louis, who murmurs, “Thanks, love,” and pulls it from her fingers.

Harry’s gaze is fixed on the screen from his perch beside Louis on the couch. He looks absorbed but when he speaks, it’s nothing about cheerleaders or band t-shirts or anything--it’s, “Do you ever wonder how much of what you do started as something you did for someone else?”

Liam tips her head until her temple is pressed to Louis’ knee and lets her gaze dissipate into the space above the coffee table, frowning as she thinks. To her right, Zayn says, “What do you mean?” and privately, Liam hopes she won’t be asked to answer--that it’ll turn into a discussion between Zayn and Harry alone. Liam’s been entirely too absorbed, lately, in how much of her life she’s built around another person. She feels Louis’ fingers brush the side of her neck and lets out a little sigh.

She can’t decide if it’d feel as dangerous to care so much about Louis’ presence if he’d admitted to wanting to be here--behind her on the couch, his shirts in the laundry, his shoes in a heap by the front door. If he openly, outright said, “I want to live with you.” Is that even the problem, anymore? Or is it the ever-present worry that what they have is transient because people are transient? Liam doesn’t think that way, not ordinarily, not often. She doesn’t wake up in the morning and brush her teeth, staring into her own face and contemplating eternity and how she’ll never really know it because she’s a human being and she has an expiration date, or whatever. Liam has been described, and accurately, she thinks, as being light-hearted. Optimistic. Not that you can’t contemplate your position in the universe and be optimistic at the same time, but--

“Liam?”

She jerks her gaze back around to fix on Zayn, who is watching her with searching eyes. Niall’s chewing his fourth slice--normal, really, just mushrooms, green pepper, black olives, and what looks like some of the sausage Liam made for breakfast two days ago--and he’s watching her, too.

“What? Sorry,” she says, shaking her head a little and sitting up straight. Zayn shrugs, posture radiating calm, though his eyes are practically boring holes through Liam.

“Just wondering if you wanted any more wine, babe,” Louis says, and Liam breathes a small sigh of relief.

“Sure,” she says. “Actually, hang on, I’ll get it,” and climbs to her feet, taking her empty plate in hand as well. She turns around to take the glass from Louis, who knows better than to protest her volunteering. “Anyone else?”

Harry shakes his head, but Zayn holds his glass out, and Niall says, “I’ll take a new beer, actually,” and hands over his empty bottle. Liam nods and takes everything up, turns, and walks into the kitchen, trying to appear nonchalant. Maybe she should’ve tossed in a little laugh? _Jesus_. The least she could do is be preoccupied on her own time.

She’s yawning and setting the glasses down, then turning with empty bottle in hand to toss it in the bin beneath the sink that’s for recycling when she hears breathing and shuffling feet behind her. She shuts the cabinet carefully and stands up, gaze darting out into the space above the counter to see if she can guess who it is before they speak, though Liam thinks she knows.

“Liam?”

It’s Harry. Of course, it’s Harry. Liam takes hold of her empty wine glass, rolling the stem beneath the edges of her fingernails and biting her lip, weighing the brittleness of the glass and feeling a sort of kinship; she doesn’t think she’ll stand up well to Harry’s questions, or most especially his kindness. She feels too fragile.

“Yes?” She turns and he’s watching her, face quiet and serious and knowing. _He always knows_ , she thinks, and she can feel a pressure building in her throat that could be a laugh or a sob, the onset of her emotion sudden as her thoughts in the living room.

She sets her glass down onto the counter. “Did you need something, Harry?”

He shifts his wide shoulders in a shrug, eyes fixed on hers. He takes a step closer, looking like he wants to touch her, maybe hug her again, like earlier. Liam swallows tightly. She feels a bit scared, maybe, of how worried she is--how worried she’s been. It’s not a big deal, it’s not as serious as her body or her racing thoughts seem to think it is. Just because the last time she got this serious, the last time she opened her mouth and asked someone if they wanted to be around her all the time--just because last time she felt even an eighth of what she feels now, Andy cheated on her, does absolutely not mean that she has to be scared to ask again. That was years ago, and she was so young--only twenty, and so determined not to see past the stars in her eyes. It’d been stupid.

Harry lays one hand on the stovetop and the other on the edge of the sink, stretched across the narrow kitchen like a bird of prey, massive wings fanned out. Liam feels caught, a fish waiting to be gutted and Harry a raptor. It’s all dramatic enough to have her hiccuping a little laugh. She’s a worrier, sure, but she’s never this dramatic.

Nothing has ever made her as crazy as Louis does.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Harry says, slowly, and he won’t stop looking at her, and suddenly Liam remembers the way Harry makes her nervous, sometimes. The way he and Louis whisper together and the way she’s been told _not to worry about it, babe, it’s just a joke Harry and I have_ \--

“Sure,” Liam replies. She’s trying desperately to keep her tone light, but in her ears she sounds strung out. _Harry is your friend_ , she thinks, over and over. _He’s worried about you_.

Harry drums his fingers on each surface, frowning a little before continuing. “You and Lou, you’re alright, yeah?”

Liam shrugs. Her shoulders are tense. _Calm down, Liam_. “Yeah, we’re, um. We’re fine.” She brings a hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Why?”

“Liam.” Harry’s voice is soft. He drops his hands, like he’s folding himself inward, trying to seem smaller. “You can tell me, you know, I--,” he sighs, lifts a hand, drags it over his face, fingers catching on his bottom lip. “I want to help.”

Liam crosses her arms. _Help?_ “Help with what?” Her voice wobbles. Harry bites his lip, then releases it.

“You seem--like, you’re not alright? Zayn’s been worried, too. Like, he tries not to say anything, or like, he’ll ignore it... He says he doesn’t want to play your mom and it’s something you’re supposed to handle, but I’m worried? You seem really upset?”

This, _this_ is why Liam hates that Harry sometimes makes her nervous, or that she ever for a second resents his closeness to Louis, or that she’s ever tried to put up walls against him. There was something about their charm, Harry’s quiet and open and unassuming, Louis’ loud and wild and mischievous. There was something about the way they were that terrified Liam, made her wary and defensive. Louis, she’d changed for--been softened by him and opened and warmed. She’d let him in, but as soon as Harry had tried to follow she’d slammed shut, like a trap around an ankle. A bone of feeling broke in her every time she was reminded that Harry had something of Louis’ that she couldn’t, still, no matter how many times she told herself it was good. It was good for Louis to have him.

They were best friends, Liam knows that; knows they are best friends, still, same as her and Zayn. There’s just something about the way their fingers brush over each other. Something about the way Louis’ mom says Harry’s name like she’s catching something dropped and glances around like she’s waiting to see if anyone’s noticed. Harry and Louis-- _are Harry and Louis_. She thinks it every time she sees them together. They are a universe she can’t enter, and she isn’t jealous normally. She has never been jealous of Niall’s hold on Zayn, hadn’t even been jealous of Lilly’s hold over Andy--but, well, that’d been a mistake, hadn’t it, and she’s never felt about Zayn the way she feels about Louis. It’s always been different. Louis is different.

She shifts her weight and crosses her arms. Harry still looks like he’s itching to reach out to her, maybe put a hand on her shoulder. Even as the silence between them draws out, heavy and strained, she can’t stop her line of thought from barrelling forward.

She isn’t jealous normally, but there is something about the impenetrability of Harry and Louis that nags at her. It does, no matter how much she tries to ignore it, or laugh with Harry, or cuddle into him on the couch. There isn’t any kind of fairness to it, or reason. She knows Harry cares about her. The evidence is right here in front of her. She knows he wouldn’t want her to feel this way on purpose, but that’s it, too, isn’t it? It’s accidental, illogical. It’s instinctual.

What it isn’t, however, is Harry’s fault.

“Harry,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry if I’ve--I don’t mean to worry you, I wouldn’t...,” she trails off, biting her lip, and Harry finally does reach out to her. His hand on her shoulder is massive and warm. She feels the heat seep straight down to her fingertips, and suddenly the lump in her throat is too big, too hard, and she has to do something--

“Liam,” Harry says, softly, “Liam, please--don’t cry, Leemo.” He pulls her in and she goes, crying quietly, tightening her grip around his waist until she feels she might be crushing his ribs, wanting so much to apologize for something Harry probably isn’t even aware of.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I don’t--it’s just, I. It’s dumb, and Zayn’s right.”

“Is it about Louis?” Harry’s got a hand on the back of her head, massaging at her hair. She nods against his chest and he hums. “Is it about--moving in together?”

Liam pulls back to look into his face and he tilts his head down to hers. “How did you know?”

Harry smiles, a little bashful. “Zayn told me, actually. I think I annoyed him.”

Liam sighs. “I bet Niall knows, too.”

“Probably.”

“I just--I don’t want to--,” Liam starts, voice a little shaky, and she’s cut off by a burst of laughter from the living room. Harry nods.

“You don’t want him to freak out, or to suddenly reveal that he’s cheating on you with, like, the new guy at the bakery. Or me.”

Liam tries not to let her pulse jump at the last, desperate to be calm about this now that she knows absolutely everyone has been talking about what a lunatic she’s been the past few days. _Brilliant_. “I guess. Harry, I--what if he doesn’t want to? I can’t ask him, I honestly don’t think I can. It’s like, PTSD.”

“It’s not PTSD, let’s not trivialize mental illnesses,” Harry says, and taps Liam on the nose for good measure as if to ensure that she’ll roll her eyes. She does, and they both laugh. “No, but really. Liam, he wants to. Honestly? I think if you wait a bit, he’ll probably ask you himself, and you’ll have to be all, ‘Louis, my apartment’s altogether better than yours, we’re not moving into yours, you idiot.’ And I bet Zayn thinks the same, even if he won’t say it because he doesn’t believe in stating things as though they’re facts if they’re not.”

“Doesn’t have your same brand of blind optimism,” Liam says, and she reaches up to wipe the tears from beneath one eye while Harry dusts his fingers under the other.

“Exactly. And Liam?”

Liam looks at Harry, traces of laughter still in his eyes but his face altogether serious, and reassuring. “Yes?”

“He loves you,” Harry says, and his voice is so soft. Almost sad. “He loves you more than he’s loved anything.”

Quiet falls again in the kitchen, just Harry and Liam watching each other. After what feels like ages of staring, waiting, Liam nods. Harry kisses her forehead and then pulls back.

“Now, let’s go out before they let Zayn pick the movie and it’s some shit in French and black and white.”

Liam laughs, and she lets Harry pull her back out into the living room, dirty dishes abandoned by the sink. Harry’s settling into his place on the couch and Liam’s ready to fall right into Louis lap--“Took you ages in there, did you find Narnia?”--when Niall’s complaint comes from behind her: “No beer?”

Liam smiles, first at Louis and then at Niall and Zayn above him, and it’s genuine and lighter than before, her head clear. “So sorry, Prince Horan, I’ll be right back.”

“You offered!” Niall shouts, and Liam’s chest is filled with a crushing fondness for these people, her friends, who worry about her and swap advice and--know. What sort of love it is she feels, what they have.

She thinks, probably, that everything is going to be alright.

 

\--

 


End file.
